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Those who make their living flirting with catastrophe develop a faculty of pessimistic imagination, of anticipating the worst, that is often all but indistinguishable from clairvoyance.
“ ‘Forget about what you are escaping from,’ ” he said, quoting an old maxim of Kornblum’s. “ ‘Reserve your anxiety for what you are escaping to.’ ”
In, out, it’s only the same thing in the other direction.
The desire he felt, watching Joe, was unquestionably physical, but in the sense that Sammy wanted to inhabit the body of his cousin, not possess it. It was, in part, a longing—common enough among the inventors of heroes—to be someone else; to be more than the result of two hundred regimens and scenarios and self-improvement campaigns that always ran afoul of his perennial inability to locate an actual self to be improved.
New York never looks more beautiful than to a young man who has just pulled off something he knows is going to knock them dead.
